


Last Call, Pitches

by Tatrin



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Beca's Awesome Ad-Libbing, Beca's Music, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:46:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23671018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tatrin/pseuds/Tatrin
Summary: "So, you work for me now," a smart smirk made its way on Beca's face.
Relationships: Beca Mitchell & Theo (Pitch Perfect)
Kudos: 9





	Last Call, Pitches

**Author's Note:**

> [I kinda wish this is Beca's tattoo](https://tatrinwhitewolf.tumblr.com/post/614987760819929088)

Beca's mind dosed itself with ice to halt the train of thought of the way Turtle was leaning in. "So, you work for me now," a smart smirk made its way on Beca's face, though she kept cautious. The highly successful performance she just pulled out of her aca-ass might have seemed like the tables had finally turned to her favour when she reached her quarter of the decade, but it could easily tilt away. ICCA champions three years in a row. Acapella World Championship. Winning winning performing. Jesse.

"Yes, you are the boss," Turtle nodded.

Wow, that shouldn't sound as nice as that. "So, that's cool."

Turtle nodded again and pushed his back against the wall and away from the crowd. Good idea. "Yes, I have some ideas."

"'Cause I gotta tell you I'm gonna be a real handful," Beca said, instead of explaining how much of a terrible music exec she was, wanting to produce her own instead of surrendering the stage to others' vision. Or how terrible of an intern she used to be, literally threatening her boss' and Luke's positions though those two were cool-headed dudes and they managed to work together but still. Or, honestly, how terrible of a Bella member she still is. It's just great that the Bellas miraculously not just tolerate but work with her tendency to ad-lib and just, improv on her performances.

As if knowing what she was thinking, or more realistically perhaps Turtle was the competent kind to search and double-check potentials and so already had an idea of how Beca works. "Yes," Turtle said for the third time, "I've realized that from the beginning."

"What're those ideas?" Beca asked.

"Normal things a music exec like me have to think about. Publishing, marketing, promotion, touring decisions," Turtle shrugged awkwardly, in that way that had made her think of him as a turtle. "You don't conform."

She's going to like Turtle, isn't she? "Yes, I do not conform to this oversharing age."

Turtle, surprisingly, swallowed that quickly. "No interviews?"

Beca was so grateful. "No media if possible but I get pictures but," Beca huffed. "Also, not much? I don't want to be a fugitive."

Turtle chuckled.

"It's true!" Beca insisted. She likes producing music and performing but help her if she ever gets famous she'd be living a fugitive's life. Getting in and out of the house, restaurant, toilet, what she'd be wearing to the grocery store and sheiße would be something she had to make strategies for. "I like my works to speak for themselves instead of actually saying. Anything. I can't do the 'be nice to everyone' obligation. I'm not going to be expected to write resumes, am I? I'm going to murder someone with my serrated teeth if so."

"No, no, no, no, you don't have to. Murder isn't easy anyway. Um, coffee? I mean, food? You're starving, I assume."

"Food is a painful donation to my confused stomach right now," Beca grimaced. "You're really okay with me not rubbing shoulders?"

"You're not saying a strictly exclusive by-screen long-distance contract."

"No, no, no, no, long-distance is, no," Beca paused. She and Jesse tried long distance, and it was - it wasn't bad, it just. Fell. Like, poof, candle-wax-on-the-carpet-and-we-only-notice-weeks-later poof. "I want to produce my music and perform."

"Okay."

"Under a custom name."

"Alright."

"With a custom mask."

Turtle puffed out his cheeks. "Design?"

Rolling her sleeve, Beca held up her wrist. "Black Dahlia."


End file.
